I have always been one to dream of May in October. To wish for Christmas in July.
I hold on to the smells and sounds I have saved, the ones I know by heart. The crash of the ocean and the smell of a fisherman’s wellies, crunched with sand and sea.
I held on until I let go, until I did what I needed to do in order start my own life. To become myself, outside of my home.
But sometimes we have to swallow our pride. Ditch our half-hatched theories, release ourselves from what has held us back.
We can watch all that hurt swirl, form, and change. We can watch it and say goodbye.
Things may never change. There is a terrifying peace in knowing this.
But it's time. It's time to know this.
It is time for me to let myself go back home.